All the World's a Stage

She was amazing playing Blanche DuBois in Streetcar Named Desire.  I was the stage manager, but my main concern was staying out of the way of the cast in such a dark confined area.  Beth Zimmerman was as beautiful as she was talented.  Then one night, Beth Zimmerman smiled at me when I found her fan for the third act that had been misplaced on the prop table.  I could have melted on the spot.

I joined the Tannanaw River Players about two years ago as a way to c0me out of my shell as one of the biggest introverts that has ever been born, but I ended up becoming part of the stage crew.  Don’t get me wrong, I love being part of “The Crew,” as we are known, but the real extroverts are the players on stage and I just don’t have the nerve to do that yet.

I don’t know what it is, but as soon as those white hot spotlights blind the players, it’s like being under a microscope in Mrs. Fanning’s biology class.  I feel comfortable sitting in the wings as part of The Crew rather than some squishy thing wiggling around under a microscope. It's  safe sitting here in the dark where no one can see you.

Still this is not helping me get over my paralyzing shyness.

But that does not stop these dreams I have of having to play the romantic lead opposite Beth Zimmerman when the big kissing scene must be acted out to add a certain element of authenticity to the part. 

“Doug.” Mrs. Weston  called like an alarm clock on a school day.

“Doug.” She called again, but I was swimming in my comfortable daydream.

“Yes ma’am.” I felt as if I was rising to the surface of the water.  

“Scene three.” She snapped her fingers.

‘Right away.” I nodded.

“Zippy get the lights set.” She snapped her fingers.

As a director, Mrs. D’Arcy Carlton was one of the best in the community.  Her sister  She had been the main director of the Tannanaw Community Players since its inception ten years ago when the city council was looking for something to keep the ”kids” out of trouble and off the streets. Since there are less than a thousand people living within the city limits the trouble was not as bad as the council had made it seem ten years ago.  

River People is how we are known by those from the upriver communities or places not familiar with “true river culture,” where we have our own way of doing things that might vary slightly from the way you are used to doing things.  Whatever you have heard about Tannanaw River People, remember we are not unsophisticated rubes lacking a firm grasp on the amenities of fine arts as many will be more than happy to tell you, we are guardians of the culture along this small tributary of the Ohio River in Indiana where river culture and tradition are kept vital.

Theatre is one of the ways we express our unique culture. When Mr. Bobbins passed away ten years ago, he left his cabin to Tannanaw River to benefit the river community's fine arts  culture.  Bobbins had developed a reputation as  a strong patron of the arts in his lifetime; many felt that it would be fitting to establish a community theater.  

In a now historic debate, Mrs. Carlton fought with the city council to turn the spacious cabin into a theater in the round like the Globe Theater Shakespeare constructed over five hundred years before in Stratford on Avon near London.  With some talented members of the council, six months later they had turned Bobbin’s musty old cabin into a theater in the round.  

When they dedicated the building as the Tannanaw River Community Theater, D’Arcy Carlton told the small gathering that they would long remember the community’s dedication to the arts. In less than seven months, the theater was bankrupt leaving many prominent citizens to wonder if they they made the right choice.  But with Mrs. Carlton’s will and force of character, she continued to push her agenda to give Tannanaw River a vital community theater, 

Since Mrs. Carlton’s sister Mae Weston was the drama teacher at Tannanaw River High School, many of the promising drama students were recruited for the community theater.  Principal Benton was not a proponent of such an alliance, but there was nothing in writing to prevent it which is how I wound up there as a member of The Crew, 

My father was also not a big proponent of the theater and when I began spending most of my evenings at the old Bobbin cabin, he had some objections to my dedication to the group. 

“Doug, I really would prefer you to stay home tonight.” He said at the dinner table.

“Why?” I shrugged.

“Because valuable time and effort seem to be headed that way instead of at your school work.” He said as he scooped some mashed potatoes onto his plate. 

“I got all of my homework done.” I nodded, glancing at mom who did not appear to be as concerned as he was.

“You are a senior this year.  Next year, you will be in college.” He poured some gravy on his potatoes.

“Community college.” I snorted.

“Then onto a four year college.” He tilted his head. “Do you have any idea what you will be doing when you graduate college?”

“Dad, I have no idea what classes I will be taking in community college.” I rolled my eyes, which was the only defense I had at the moment.

“Perhaps you need to think about that instead of traipsing off to the theater every night,” His lips disappeared.  “What do you do there anyway?”

“I am a member of The Crew.” I said with pride. 

“The Crew?  What’s that?” He scowled.

“We work backstage,” I ran my fork through my potatoes. 

“Doing what?” 

“Whatever needs to be done.” I answered, but the snideness of my intonation did not aid my cause. 

“Waste of time.  This place does not need a theater.  Theaters only draw the wrong crowd.” He glanced over at mom who was trying her best to stay out of the fray.  The “wrong crowd” was an understood generalization between me and my father.  Since queers were drawn to the theater, it was assumed that everyone was queer according to my father.  Working as shop steward for our local electrician union, he did not mince words about his feelings toward the gay community.  Since I had never dated a girl, his suspicion was that one day I would turn into one of them since I was under their influence.  He had little to worry about since the object of my affection was Beth Zimmerman. Still, we had become a family of secrets in our own introverted way.  

“Doug.” My brother Troy called me from the corner of the garage where he’d smoke his weed.

“Yeah.” I dribbled a basketball.  It was getting darker earlier after dinner, but I wanted to take a couple of shots.  I had been cut from the basketball team twice, so I had given up on becoming the next Michael Jordan.  I still like to take some shots after dinner just in case an agent comes calling one day.  The garage reeked  of marajuana, but both of my parents had no idea what it smelled like when Troy  was smoking it. 

“What is there about the theater you like?” He asked.  His eyes were red and nose was runny. 

“Beth Zimmerman.” I answered with a hook shot that got nothing, but net.

“Yeah, she’s hot.” He admitted, nodding his head like a cuckoo clock that was missing a spring. 

“She wants me to do some acting.” I took another shot, but it went wide.

“Acting?  Shit, I’d be terrified.” He nearly shook considering the possibility.

“Yeah, but I’m thinking about it.” One last shot went in off the backboard.

Mrs. Weston was teaching our drama class about the use of props and how props affected the action onstage.  I was quite familiar with props since Mrs. Carlton made sure we arranged them in logical sequence for each performance. There was nothing worse than not having a dagger in place when Macbeth needed one to murder King Duncan.  Mrs. Weston even had me come up in front of the class to explain the strategy of making sure all the props were arranged in proper sequence.  I could see Beth sneak a quick grin when I was going through my explanation.

“Are you one of those queers from the Tannanaw River Community Theater.” Royce Greggsom asked after class.

“I do volunteer work at the theater.” I nodded.

“So you are one of their queers.” He chuckled.

“Look, not everyone out there is gay.” I pointed it out.

“Yeah, but most of them are, which makes you one of them.” He nudged me.

I let it go.  It was not worth the trouble.  Guys like Royce were schooled not to play with girls’ toys or let their real emotions out.  His dad went to Vietnam and came home a head case according to most of the town gossip. They lived down near the river in a single wide, all seven of them.  The youngest didn’t even wear shoes to school.

“How’s it going?” Beth asked as she sat with me at lunch.

“Fine.” I half lied since I was still pretty angry over what my dad had told me.  

“I am really struggling.” Beth sighed staring at her lunch on one of those cafeteria trays.

“How so?” I asked.

“Sometimes I wished I lived in a bigger city, like Indianapolis.” Her pretty blue eyes sparkled with tears.

“What’s going on?” I asked, alarmed at the tears that were running down her powdered cheeks. 

“My mom and dad are getting a divorce.” She confessed.  Silence filled the empty space for a moment. “He’s seeing some girl that’s only a few years older than I am.” 

My mom and dad would stay together until death do us part.  Dad was a deacon at the First Presbyterian down at the bend in the river where we’d have picnics and games just about every Sunday.  Part of dad’s idea of being a man is to take the marriage bonds seriously.  I’m not saying they didn’t fight, but they would never fight in front of us kids.  

“I am thinking about going to live with my aunt in Chicago.” She shook her head.

“You can’t do that.” I could not believe my ears.  She was as close to perfection as anyone I knew, but now she was revealing details that she had kept hidden.  

Mr. Deldeckee, our sociology teacher spoke about introverts and extroverts.  Since I was an introvert, I wanted to switch sides.  Secrets were something that held you back from becoming the person you were meant to be. Mr. Deldeckee told us that it was far better to unburden yourself than hold on secrets that could hurt you and those you loved.

He was fired last year when he admitted that he was having a love affair with a student.  No one could believe it since he was such a popular teacher.  No one talks about him anymore.  It’s as if the earth swallowed him whole.  

I began to believe that all I held as true was nothing more than quicksand and stability was nothing more than a fallacy.  Some people spend their whole lives in dark places living with the ghosts they have created. 

“I’m sorry for laying this on you, Doug.” She bowed her head.

“It’s okay.  Shit happens.  Just like the poster in Mr. Smith’s room.” I chuckled to make light of the seriousness of what was taking place in her life.  

Life is a stage. When you walk out onto what is perceived as reality it becomes a challenge to distinguish between what is real and what is imagined separated only by a flat horizon.  Little wonder why my mother is seeing a psychiatrist weekly and my brother has been to rehabilitation twice and still cannot kick the habit.  Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is slowly consuming my father. Are there no safe places anymore?  Everyone is looking for a place to hide, but once the curtain goes up and the lights come on, there are no places left to hide, are there?  

Blanche DuBois was a school teacher who had an affair with one of her students after marrying a young man who she would find out was attracted to other men and when she confronted him, he ran off and killed himself.  Stanley Kowalski knows her secret.  He is married to Blanche’s sister, Stella, who is pregnant with his kid.  The human tragedy laid out by Tennessee Williams was part of his own tragedy.  

Each day, we pass people who are enmeshed in struggles of their own and while not on a Shakespearian scale, still leaves little for us to cope with.  

“Doug, maybe it’s time to open up and let people know what’s going on.” Beth takes my hand.

“There’s nothing going on.  I’m fine.” I pull my hand back.  It’s the first time I have ever defied her.

“Even when I look into your eyes, I can see conflict.” She tilts her head as a gesture of sympathy, but I see it more as pity.  “Come with me to Chicago.”

Chicago?

Slaughterhouse of the world?

“Where would I go?” I let out a long hard sigh.

“We’d be together.” She is smiling at me.

While I know that I could easily hide in her shadow, I am not sure this is where I want to be.  So many times we are willing to sacrifice ourselves for the sake of others and remain introverted.  It is hard stepping out of the shadows.  It is safer than being extroverted.

Mrs. D’Arcy Carlton reviews out applications to the Tannanaw River Community Theater.  Wearing her readers on the tip of her pointed nose, she reads each one carefully, making notes in the margins.  Dad has already told us the story of how her husband left her just before she turned the Bobbins place into a community theater.  She has a drinking problem that most folks in town know about and some questionable morals if you dig too deeply.  The problem isn’t whether there are some unwanted stones you will come across as you dig, but rather what it all means once you have sorted out the good from the bad. 

Even in Shakespeare’s time people knew that all the world’s a stage, it was just he was the one brave enough to say it out.  When Beth left, I made up my mind to speak what I knew to be the truth.  Most people don’t want to hear it or pretend it’s never been said.

I was picked to play the part of Biff Loman in Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman.